Moments
by Aebhel
Summary: A series of drabbles with absolutely no plot, exploring possible past and future moments in Harry Potter's world.
1. Watching

**A/N: This is something I'm doing purely for my own entertainment. There is no plot. I have no idea how often I'll be updating. There will be slash, angst, and possibly AU-ness. Read at your own risk.**

**Oh, and I don't own Harry Potter. Don't sue me, I'm broke. **

I spent the last night there watching you sleep. I had no right to, I knew it, but I did it anyway. You were beautiful, did you know that? Hair spread across the pillow, dark and soft in the moonlight. You snored.

I don't know how long I sat there. Long enough. Too long.

I was too much of a coward to say goodbye. I knew you'd be furious, I knew I'd regret it later, but I couldn't.

Ron came to get me in the morning.

I don't know how he knew I'd be there. Maybe I'm just a lot more obvious than I think I am. Ron's certainly a lot more observant that most people give him credit for. I jumped up when he came in the door, backed away from your bed trying desperately to think of some excuse to be in your room that wouldn't get me punched but he just half-smiled at me. I think he wanted to smile all the way but couldn't quite make his mouth do it.

"Time to go, Harry," he said. "Hermione's waiting downstairs."


	2. The Nightmare

He was one again, and his mother was clutching him against her chest, her shoulder bouncing into his cheek as she ran up the stairs. He tangled his chubby baby-fingers in her pretty hair...Mummy, don't cry, don't cry...but she didn't notice.

There were violent sounds below, sounds that baby-Harry didn't recognize, but older-Harry understood perfectly well...a splintering crash as the door gave way, and a man's voice--Daddy--shouting, suddenly cut off...his mother gave a long, shuddering sob and put him down in his cot. Their matching green eyes met for the last time, and something passed between them, mother and son. Then she was turning away as the door exploded inward and he heard her sobbing, pleading...then her voice was cut off as well. Blinding green light clouded his vision, and everything was silent for an endless moment. Then footsteps.

A face hidden by dark cloth, red eyes glinting out at him, and a cruel giggle, like that of a sadistic child. The figure raised its wand and pointed at him, muttered something under its breath...

...the world exploded in light and sound...someone was screaming again, and the cot tipped over as the floor beneath it buckled, dumping him out...he was crying now, sobbing, as the house crumbled around him and his forehead bled and burned...

_"Harry!"_

Beams cracking...his mother's body thrown close to him in death, her eyes, his eyes, wide and staring and sightless...

_"Harry! Wake up!"_

_His eyes flew open._


	3. Wake Up

I hate you.

You know that, I know that. Everyone in this damn school knows that. Probably everyone in the world.

You mean nothing to me.

So why can't I leave?

I'm sitting here watching rain beat that ridiculous hair of yours flat against your skull instead of saving my own arse, or, failing that, making myself useful. They're all watching me. Your friends, the stragglers, the survivors...even now they don't quite trust me with you. I keep thinking that the Weasel is going to try and start some sort of Muggle brawl with me, especially without your Mudblood bitch around to stop him. If I had any common sense, I'd stay away from you. It's not too late. I could follow my father and the others, tell them I got lost in the rain...

I'm an idiot, and it's your fault.

But you're still breathing. I've got your head in my lap and my wand at your chest and somehow I can't bring myself to care what they all must be thinking when I might be the only thing keeping your scrawny chest rising and falling.

I'll get you for this later.

Damn it, Potter, wake up.


	4. Hands

"What are you doing here?"

"I--"

"Never mind."

Her hands were on his chest, not caressing precisely, just pressing, moving against his t-shirt, as though making sure he was really there, really alive. They were slim, pale, spotted with freckles, like the rest of her.

"I'm sorry." It seemed very important, all of a sudden, that she know that.

Satisfied of his reality, the hands stopped moving and she leaned forward, pressing her forehead against his collarbone. "I know." Her voice was muffled against his shirt, and he could feel her warm breath. He shivered. "Are you okay?" she asked, still against his shirt.

He was silent for a long moment, then her arms slid around him. He sank into her embrace, still shivering. "No," he said finally.

"You will be."


	5. Packing

"I'm leaving, Ron, do you hear me? Leaving! I know Mum sent you after me, don't you even try to stop me, don't you dare - "

He sighed. "I'm not going to try anything, Ginny. I just wanted to talk."

"There's nothing to talk about!" She wasn't crying, but her eyes were wide and wild in the lamplight and that was somehow worse. He ran a hand through his hair, wishing Hermione was there. Wishing Harry -

"You can't leave," he said, mostly to keep from finishing the thought. "It would kill Mum."

Ginny's laugh was tinged with hysteria, and he realized that it had been the wrong thing to say. Before he could even open his mouth to try again, though, she turned her back on him and began feverishly cramming clothes into the open trunk.

"I can't stay here," she muttered in a low, frantic voice. "I can't, not now, not after this - the newspapers want to talk to me, they want me to do _interviews_ about him - "

Ron's hands clenched involuntarily, and he swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. For a long moment, the only sound was that of Ginny packing.

"I'll talk to Mum." For a brief moment, he didn't even recognize the voice as his own. "I'll explain."

She nodded wordlessly and slammed the trunk shut.


End file.
